Events That Bind
by tokyo girl 05
Summary: After a fight with Tezuka, Fuji destroys himself. No longer caring, wanting to forget and doing all that he can to make it happen. When Atobe comes along and saves him, will this be cause and effect? Or are the events binding? ToFu and TeFu. T later M
1. Chapter 1

**Based of an answer from a face book quiz asking, what would be the plot device you would use to, have PoT character A deflower character B. This is the plot bunny that then attacked me. ^^ Enjoy**

**Disclaimer: PoT is far from mine, do you not understand this?**

**Warnings: yes, M rated for a reason. It will contain light and strong yaoi from time to time.**

**A/N: Might be like three chapters long...depends where it goes after this. ^^**

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He could hardly stand it, the heavy bass pounding through his body, making his head swirl and causing his fifth drink to look heaven sent.

The music blared around the room, pounding each beat until it reverberated across the floor and back again, shaking the windows, pushing his breath. Each step, each muffled voice being blocked out by the upbeat tempo, something he would usually be dancing to himself, body swaying back and forth, grinding or gliding against the other dancers surrounding the floor, taking up all the room until it was suffocating.

Heavy lights traveled the room, flashing periodically and in time with every missed, mixed or half beat, flashing erratically as the music stuttered and rewound bouncing back with a loud beat, the middle toned sects being blasted out against the fast paced tempo, making his nerves spin evocatively, urging him to dance and release his inhabitations.

He ordered another from the bar tender, downing it almost as quickly as the last. Contrary to what people had and still think; he could not hold his drink. Even if his slightly rosy cheeks and ever smiling face made them think other wise. His grace stayed intact, he could walk almost perfectly. But the room was spinning, every light and strobe swirling, changing and melting into one blinding pulsing colour. Every person became another object in the room, moving, dancing, avoiding. He was going to be sick but still it wasn't enough. He could still think and hear and concentrate. He still knew and remembered.

He wanted to forget. Girls ordered him drinks from across the bar, looking sober as ever he accepted them gratefully, giving them a short dance and then ordering more.

It wasn't enough; he was still coherent though the room spun wildly, the music just a giant white noise pulsing through his ear, hurting his head. But nothing hurt more in comparison to his heart. Another drink, the bar tender looking confused, he downed it quicker than the last as if it was water. He asked for some thing stronger and the man skeptically handed it over.

Two drinks later and he headed for the toilets, throwing up over the less than pleasant seat, coughing, crying and hyperventilating.

The world was spinning faster, he stood up awkwardly and washed out his mouth, his face, uncaring that the neon glow paint would smudge, sending oddly streaked rivulets down his cheeks and neck, making his hair glow brightly under the UV lights he walked back into.

Back into the crowed once more; hands taking his arms and spinning him with the music, men and women alike, dancing with him, behind him and in front of him.

Clean and dirty, fast and slow, each rhythm flooding through their bodies as if high on ecstasy. Far from where he actually was, locked away in a deep despair as someone's tongue met with his in a drunken kiss, neon paint finding its way to odd places as the crowed once again moved full force to the tempo, jumping, laughing, and singing to the words they hardly knew.

One person after another, one drink at a time, each shot games and teasing dares. One disheveled top later and finally the club was beginning to close, sometime in the early hours of the morning. He had almost slept with nearly three people in the time frame of nine at night till now, the time unknown to him. Almost losing the only thing he had left because he wanted to forget, wanted to change and go against everything he knew. The guy in the cubicle didn't seem to mind as lips wandered lower until sheer pleasure and lust over threw all thoughts, neither had the girl at the back of club as she got what she wanted from him. But even still he had stopped before it went too far, washing out his mouth, joining another group as shots were passed around, another strip game in progress until he no longer knew where his top was, only to find out he had been sitting on it.

The morning air was cold, the world around him silent compared to the chaos and racing from inside those walls. Birds chirped in the early hours, few cars drove past and nobody was around. Shivering he pulled his thin top around him, redoing the buttons up, but not caring of his appearance. A bench nearby he chose, sitting down dizzily, leaning over to the bin to once again throw up, his stomach hurting not just for the alcohol, but the other fluids now inside him, making him heave once more as he thought how disgusting that was, wanting to get rid of it. Wanting to know why he had thought that was a good idea. He could still feel the alcohol that burned along the back of his throat, along with acid from his stomach. He groaned, wiping away the tears and the paint. New streaks of colour and mess staining his pale yet drunken red face; colouring his arm as he wiped them, not noticing the numbers of many admirers smudging along his arm.

He couldn't care for them any way. It was a distraction, a bit of fun to mess with, he smiled bitterly, and putting his head between his legs as nausea took over, ignoring the stains on his trousers.

The clubs beat still echoed dully in his head, pounding still in a faint memory of the horrible night, the many drinks.

His head swayed and he crashed to the side, coughing as he thought back the urge to puke again, making it back to the bin before he did so. He had never felt so sick or wretched, heaving into the filthy metal can and wiping his mouth. Holding tightly to the seat hoping his vision would straighten. He was a mess; a tired, unhappy, filthy and heartbroken mess.

For all of the world, he could no longer sit up, falling to the side and collapsing on the cold wooden bench, touched with the dampness of the morning. The tears that fell he could no longer stop, neon tears staining the brown wood work and his cheeks. It was over; he knew it, in the quiet of the early dawn, backed against the infrequent car driving by. He had had enough, and gave in, slumping exhaustedly and disgustedly into a tormented sleep, filled with bright colours, suffocating crowds and ear haunting music.

--

Not an hour later a sleek black, stretch limo pulled up at the curb, black one way, tinted windows rolling down as a pair of shade hidden eyes looked over across the pavement, up to the walk and then to the figure lying beautifully destroyed on the bench.

The door opened and a pair of smart beige trouser turned out, standing up in expensive Armani shoes which began their journey over towards him. Startling eyes peering over the tops of tinted sun glasses, unneeded this early in the day, to look at the colourful display with something akin to surprise.

A few steps closer and the brown, also Armani, blazer was stripped off, being chucked carefully over the almost frozen body, pale skin tinged green with sickness and red with oblivion, unmoving as a pair of fingers snapped, followed by an order barked out.

The next, two men exited from their doors, walking over and doing as instructed, lifting the unconscious boy from where he lay and transporting him inside the warmth of the sixteen seater, empty of the previous nights guests who now slept at home in luxurious beds, with grand head aches sure to follow on awakening.

The silver haired boy turned, back facing the now coloured and glittered seat, taking his own steps back to his leather seat inside. Once in, that casually nonchalant smile turned into a smirk of curiosity, moving a few strands of purple-pink stained hair from the ill boys face.

"Yare yare...what have you got your self into Fuji Syuusuke?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Gah it's just keeps going on! This is the second chapter people! Well Fuji's life is starting to go don hill now ^^ R&R Please and tell me if this is hideous. If any happens way too fast, be sure to tell me. Some part are purposely rushed or sped up for the purpose of this story. After all, you're mind doesn't tend to slow down when you're having a bad day and all you can do is think about it.  
Warnings: M, ToFu, Language. Don't like, don't read. Simple as that ne?**

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He couldn't believe it, how brightly the morning sun shone, blaring across his closed lids. He flinched painfully, cursing himself for even opening his eyes to the smallest fraction, dazzling light burning his retinas causing him to groan and turn away.

He found his body complaining with every motion; small or big, not wanting to be rocked or swayed at all. It felt like his stomach was floating not held in place at all and making him feel queasy. His entire body ached, tired and worn from the night's events he could no longer recall.

It hurt too much to think, in fact it was killing him, every pulse or noise or break of light, causing his head to feel as if someone was continuously hitting him, the horrible pounding wracking against every vulnerable fiber he had.

Groaning again and feeling his stomach summersault, he gripped the covers and pulled them, with a tired effort, over his head, blocking out the light, trying to mute the sounds of the birds singing their once beautiful, now painful, songs.

He couldn't sleep, he wanted so desperately to go back to sleep, regardless of his nightmares. The reality of waking hurt too much to bear, he thought his head may explode with the intense pressure.

The silky fabric, though soft and comforting to the touch, did nothing to soothe his agony, resting lithely over his exposed skin. It was warm though, a great relief from the coldness he had felt that night.

To be honest, he couldn't remember. Not one small detail could flit through his aching mind, unknowing and wondering of the night before.

Strobes; pulsing, beating lights that timed in with each beat. A small recollection as he opened his eyes in the sweet, tangible darkness. Kind to his eyes, allowing them to adjust wearily, not at all focused.

He felt his stomach flip again from where he lay, comfortable under the warm duvet, snuggled close to him and protecting him from what ever wished to agonise his head more.

He vaguely wondered how much he had drunk, but thought better of it; trying to remember something impossible, making his head spin though he was lying flat.

Head spinning, eyes unfocused, and stomach turning; though definitely empty, he knew he was going to be sick.

He held on, fighting it back and sitting up quickly, in search of the bin he knew was by the bench.

Too quick; he moved to quick and the world seemed to attack as one. Blinding light entering his eyes, making him close them sharply and flinch once again. The world spun so fast, not even leaning against the head board helped to balance him as he tipped, ever so greatly, to the side, crashing down on the mattress with a moan, hand to his mouth and stomach.

The movement, the shear jostling he had given himself, made his mind leave him completely. Gone, far away stuck inside of a never ending twist and turn, spinning quicker and more incoherently than possible.

It wasn't just painful, it was white hot agony, soaring through his head and ravaging its path through every available spot. It felt as though the two halves of his brain were being tugged on, in a futile game of tug of war, making their way to splitting him in half.

Heaving, he leaned on his arm, dry retching over the covers; gold and beige he saw, as his body tried to de-tox. But with an empty stomach, all ready emptied of its contents, that was nigh on impossible.

He coughed, looking around, dazed and hurting. Only now did he notice his surroundings, the bed he now lay in as opposed to the bench he had slept on.

Not a single unguided or incoherent memory could lead him to how he got here. His already dilated pupils growing larger as panic set in, his heart race pulsing, pounding, sending a rush of blood to his and making him sway.

No, he shouldn't be panicking; it was ridiculous; being in a strange place, a random room among many, with who knew who else, somewhere in this obviously posh house hold.

He pushed back the covers, uncaring for the agony his body screamed at, or the ache of his head, making him unbalanced, chastising him for his stupidity, making every movement more painful than the last. Revenge of a sort, he thought, smiling moronically as a self deserving hatred he found satisfying.

Why shouldn't he be punished, certain memories, snippets of last nights 'activities' returning to him, making him heave once again as he stood.

Wobbling, swaying, tipping over the softly carpeted floor, untouched it seemed, by anyone else. His vision failing him terribly, his depth perception and judgment of distance now out the window, made him wonder why the floor and the room seemed to shift, either closer or further away, trying to make his way safely to the door opposite.

There were two doors; the one in front of him, and the one to the left of him, much further and tiresomely away from him.

Hand on the handle, keeping steady, using any strength his body had to function properly, to take orders, he gripped the handle and twisted.

The door swung open, apparently from being pushed too hard, though how he had done so he did not know, and crashed against the wall, the loud noise almost killing him.

He held his head, groaning in disbelief of the renewed -not that it had ever left- pain, dancing and having fun as it tormented his senses; he sunk to the floor.

After a few minutes of mindless, for he was, sitting around, waiting for the door to stop moving, or his vision at least, he stood up.

Shaking, he pulled himself up the door frame, groaning with each step into hellfire, his mind and stomach laughing in vengeance at him.

He deserved it, was his only thought, taking hold of the porcelain sink for balance, washing his face with the running tap and looking upwards toward the mirror.

The first thing he noticed was the lack of make up, the colourful spread from yesterday was missing, then as he looked downwards; so were his clothes, replaced with a pair of silk pajamas, matching the colour and interior of the room, a strange gold beige against his pale green skin.

He looked a state, a complete and utter sight that made him want to smack himself. How stupid had he been? How sick and disgusted did he feel now? Was it even worth it?

Of course not. It wasn't worth it; although he had got what he wanted, although he had managed to forget, if only for a few hours, it was definitely not worth it.

The feelings and memories he tried so hard to suppress came back, full force to the front of his mind. His legs gave way and dropped him to the cold tiles, heavy sobs wracking his chest, his head thumped and pushed, his heart breaking for the hundredth time that week; each time just as painful as the last.

Clear tears etched their way along ivory white ceramic, trailing their sad tale along the crevasses of each square, joint to the next, small rivers now forming.

He couldn't stop; he couldn't breath, hyperventilating once again, against the hammer in his chest and head. Crying so hard. His already wrecked throat damaged further. He didn't care, he felt sick and tainted, remembering events and stupid, foolish decisions. The stupid and foolish words he had said to the person he cared for most, now probably off somewhere, hating him and trying to move on, as he himself couldn't.

He hated himself, he hated it all. It hurt too much, it hurt to think, to breathe, to cry and to feel.

Feel; a funny choice of wording he had thought; breath hitching as he startled at a pair of arms encircling him from behind. Pulling him close but not in a threatening way.

Regardless, the panic returned to his already racing emotions, and he spun around, eyes contacting with a familiar shade of blue against his distorted blue, eying him curiously yet sympathetically.

He opened his mouth to speak, to ask in his broken and distant voice the only question he could think: why?

The old friend, for he was to a certain degree, shook his head and pulled him closer, not letting him waste his breath on needless chatter, letting him cry heavily into his chest, feeling himself vibrate with the force of those sobs.

He sat there, straight and tall, supporting the younger boy that clutched to him helplessly, undignified and broken. No matter how hard he tried to compose himself, a memory would return, breaking the small, weak barrier he had only barely managed to retrieve, sending him into despair again.

Each breath hurt, each turn of his head on someone else's body scarred him, and burned him. The feeling that it should be someone else, it was supposed to be someone else, picking him up, setting him down and straightening him up. Wiping his tears away and setting him in bed, sitting with him until he was calm.

Calm, another funny choice of words. He was past calm, somewhere distant as he stared at the interwoven fabric of the others shirt, absently playing with the buttons in some half asleep manner, not really knowing what he was doing.

He knew he shouldn't, he knew it was idiotic and wrong, but he couldn't help it as he undid them, much to the confusion and amusement of the older boy.

Taking his hand he stopped him, making him sit straight and watching his eyes, belaying the fact, that though it was the next morning, the younger hazel haired boy was still under influence. The alcohol still working its way around his body making him lightheaded and the world slightly surreal.

Staring at him like that, he could only tilt his head in confusion, wanting to speak but sure the other wouldn't allow him. But then, when had he ever listened to anyone, especially now. Wasn't he supposed to be this dangerous live wire, doing what ever he wanted, out drinking all night till he was paralytic?

He didn't care anymore; the one person he wanted wasn't here, the person to pick him up and help him wasn't the person he wanted, but he knew that that person wouldn't come. He had made sure of it; he had said those horrible things. As if the other would want him now; this disgusting, shameful person. A slut among the many that bar and clubbed hopped, getting of with strangers, too drunk to know what he was doing.

He didn't think, seeing the boys eyes widened before him as he lent in a kissed him on the lips. The other staying frozen in shock as he pulled away, watching with lust filled eyes at the shocked boy. Snapping out of it he frowned, opening his mouth to ask his still drunk guest just what, exactly, did he think he was doing? But he found himself cut off before he could even get two words out, a warm tongue exploring his mouth as lips moved against his own. Probing and daring the other to kiss back as hands found their way up the silver haired boy's chest, pushing him back against the head board.

Finally the diva pushed him away, looking a cross between angry and turned on. Finally he spoke.

"Fuji what do you think you're doing?"

The tensai, Fuji Syuusuke, smiled that smile, the one which anyone who had met him knew meant trouble. Cerulean eyes, clouded with alcohol, pain and lust looked over his 'dear' friend's body, and he cocked his head tauntingly.

"I'm planning on doing you Atobe," came his hoarse promise, now straddling the captain, kissing him deeply once again, causing him to moan and kiss back on reflex.

Those eyes, died as quickly as they came to life, undoing buttons, kissing his way down the others neck and chest, biting, sucking, licking until he heard those wanted noises.

Some part of him kicked himself, but it was soon pushed back and he felt the heat traveling downwards, turning him on as he pushed teasingly against the others pants, tight with their own problem.

The captain, Atobe Keigo, tried to fight back, to regain some moderate control over his body, thinking of any kind of distraction; tennis, his family, a dog, the birds outside. Anything to not give in, moaning as teeth teased a nipple as hands roamed, sickeningly finding him self reciprocating these movements, mapping his own way across the other small frame.

Tables turned as this time he forced the smaller boy on his back, refusing to be topped by someone so small and of all things drunk, which he was himself still a little, having returned from a party himself that night. Lust over taking all thoughts as he made his way down the others stomach, hands tugging at the waist band of the smaller boys pants before stopping and returning to kiss him again.

He was fighting back as much as he could, giving the other enough but not all, but to the other it wasn't enough.

Smaller hands tugging wanting at the older trousers, pulling them loose and, much to the others chagrin and pleasure, finding he was just as hard as he. Hand moving slowly at first, though he knew what to do, unsure of how the older boy would react as he seemed to looked irritated.

He closed the gap between their mouths as the other moaned, clearly getting the message of what the other wanted, his small, skilled hands moving faster along his length until he came, gasping into the kiss.

The diva had never felt more vexed, being used like this. But self control was hard to find when still tipsy and being taken advantage of by a clever, drunken prodigy.

It wasn't long before both were naked and sticky, not even finished as the younger boy gave up, giving in to what he wanted; this sick revenge against himself in anger, and to his former lover for reasons he knew weren't his fault.

This was his own undoing, he had destroyed his relationship with the person he loved most, the person that would never forgive him and would never want him back. He gave up, and cried out as two fingers entered him, stretching him and trying to make it easier on him.

He hadn't said a word to the older that could indicate he was still a virgin, though not for much longer as fingers removed themselves and the dark eyed boy kissed him deeply, moving to bite his collar to distract him, entering him slowly and causing the boy below him to cry out it in pain, though he knew it was coming.

It hurt, a lot; even as he was adjusting he could tell he was leaving marks on the silver haired boys back, holding so tightly through pain. Then he moved.

He gasped at the contact the strange feeling of pain turning into pleasure, the older boy leaning down to hiss in his ear how disappointed he was. Angered that this lithe boy would break himself to the point of giving up his virginity to anyone.

He couldn't reply though, his body's ecstasy against his minds despair, tears rolling down his cheeks as he held back the noises in his throat. He didn't care, he didn't.


	3. Chapter 3

**Yay Chapter 3 is done ^_^ This style of writing is pretty hard when you brain starts to run out of words and the thesaurus is lost some where in my messy room XD I hope this chapter lives up to the other two and hasn't made poor Fujiko too ooc ^_^ Although he has to be ooc for this role I guess... hmmm saa, oh well I hope it works out.  
****Thanks to those who have R&R and Faved this story (^O^) Please continue to read an enjoy my angst.**

**Warning: Angst, Masochism, Some descriptions. Oh btw this is a TeFu fic, even though quite a bit of ToFu is involved. (any one else think that sounds like a recipe?)**

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The dark eyed boy growled, displeased after having re-dressed and glaring at the dozing boy, wanting to hit him for his stupidity and pathetic-ness.

Was this frail figure so broken that he had it in him to do that? This small figure lying naked under the covers; was he so wretched and desperate that he would go to lengths to lose something so precious, something he would never regain, to a person he hardly knew, let alone liked?

Had their fight been so severe, that this usually bright and mischievous boy would now throw away his life on alcohol and clubs, getting off with random people he had never met?

It made him feel sick; feeling so much disappointment and pity for a fallen angel, whose own fault it caused this in the first place. The sadistic child countering every move he had made to prevent the intercourse, to stop him doing something so desperate. He frowned down at the lithe body with an angered scowl, hoping he was pleased with himself.

Standing up and sighing with mental exhaustion, the diva turned to give the boy a final displeased and disgusted look, shaking his head before leaving the room.

Slowly, timidly and almost uncertain, the covers began to shake and the clearly awake boy rolled over, curling tightly into a ball, clutching at the pillow to mask his desperate sobs and agony. He felt sick; sick of himself, sick of this life and sick of how he was living. How he had betrayed the person closest to him, how he had taken advantage of a kind situation to hurt his self more.

He laughed disgusted at the masochist he had become, hurting his self to make the pain go away, only to have it return worse than before; sending him into despair over and over until he wanted to claw at his chest, to remove that useless, shattered muscle inside of him. It was doing nothing anyway, except causing him misery, regret, sorrow.

He hugged the pillow tighter, biting it in attempt to stop the sobs escaping, the whimpers and the small yelps when he moved. He had given up, he had given it up to the wrong person, the last thing he had, the last thing that had meant anything. Had he always been this weak? Was he always this pathetic?

The words stung in his mind, flitted bits of conversation turned argument, the words shared in that apartment ringing in his ears, burning till he thought they would bleed. Snippets of the time just spent, the older boys irked and displeased words, chastising him, calling him out to what he truly was; a coward.

He said he didn't care, couldn't care less, that this disgusting pain in his chest was nothing but the desire to end it all. Get it over with; this was nothing, just another night.

He had said such sick, awful words, the guilt adding to what was already there. That was now two people, two people he had said such cruel things to, had hurt because of his own stupidity; two people that would never forgive him.

He felt weak, no; he was weak, he was weak and he was scared, a coward. He was running from so much, so many mistakes that were his own fault.

The silver haired boy had known that much, he had found him, taken him in, in some strange attempt at arrogant kindness, tried to stop himself from making a huge mistake. The only people that had had that privilege had been the Hyoutei regulars and good friends. The last he check; he and the diva were far from close, with the exception of what had just transpired.

He wished the damned idiot did hit him, hit him hard and that he wouldn't stop until some sense had been knocked into him. But he wouldn't, the older boy was brought up respectfully, to be a gentleman as all rich children were brought up, there to impress.

He shuddered, not daring to open his eyes to see the state of himself; the marks, the bites, the filthy state of his body. It made him retch, hangover still in place regardless of what had happened.

His head had throbbed, his stomach had turned, but so previously had his body; hard to the others touch, willing to move just to feel some higher level of euphoria. He felt ill, he felt as if the world should just shoot him where he lay; broken, filthy and in tears.

The funny thing was, out of all that had happened, after the most stupid argument, the silent treatment, the wandering off to bars and clubs, getting toyed with by strangers and toying with them back until his body arched backwards in sexual pleasure, after all of that he was still torturing himself.

It made him laugh, some mad and delusional noise emitting from his throat, scaring him enough to clamp his mouth shut with hand, continuing to let the tears fall, to sob until his chest and stomach ached with the effort of the never ending convulsions.

He hadn't even registered the final words his host had spoke leaving the room. He hadn't heard him speak that dead sentence, until now, echoing dully in his mind as it made it's way to the surface, bold as anything and screaming at him. Eyes wide open, a new wave of tears cascading darkly down his white cheeks. He had said it so quiet he had strained to hear, though not listened at all, the diva's calm words going over his head as he spoke, telling him something he now realised was important. Something that he now realised was a chance; a chance that could either destroy or save him.

He hadn't listened, he had thought only of himself like the selfish fool he was and now, the navy eyed boy was going to cancel that chance. He had called _that _person, and that person had agreed, despite their argument, to pick him up from this place. And now, now that person was probably being told not to come, not to take him from this nightmare and either keep or abandon him.

An entire month it had been, on his own, secluded and separated from his love and left to his own mournful devices. Doing what ever reckless things he could to get some form of pay back on the other, knowing he was blatantly hurting himself instead.

He didn't care that the other boy would reject him, or hate him, he needed to see him, and he couldn't let the Hyoutei captain make that call; shooting up from the bed and hurriedly getting dressed, ignoring the pain in his head, but unable to ignore the searing, breaking, pain in his back. He wasn't even a foot away from the bed before he dropped to his knees, staring desolately and blankly into space, barely able to breathe.

How could he face him after this, after he had so ignorantly and foolishly slept with another man, disregarding any hope for their future?

It seemed like such a small thing, that one twist in fates ever tormenting web. Two routes to choose; had he chosen the other, he would have left the confines of this overly extravagant room, to find that person waiting perhaps in the lobby, or the hall, or one of the many rooms that rich, arrogant man owned, for him. But no, he had chosen the route, that one silly, regretful and deceiving turn in his life, where he chose to spend the night in another mans bed, becoming filthy and traitorous.

How could he look at the man he loved knowing he had done something so treacherous? How could he face something like that so soon, having to let the other know, having him look down in betrayal, and disappointment? To have him yell and tell him he hated him, or worse, the other staying silent, showing no response at all, not even caring.

To be cut in such a way, he felt his chest tighten, his heart almost crying out in despair, not wanting to know of that fate.

So slowly it hurt, he pulled himself up from the ground, walking absently over to the en suit door, the shameful, heart wrenching thought of that persons face, how his expression would or wouldn't be.

He fumbled blankly with his top, half on, half off as he let it drop to the floor, crumpling loosely in a silk puddle. His steps falling quietly yet still managing to echo along the white tiles, his earlier tears long dried up from the floor; those quiet footfalls, making their way to the large shower, ignoring the full length mirror that reflected every flaw of his perfect image. Stepping into the shower, sparkling white and certainly untouched, he turned on the handle, allowing the warm water to fall down effortlessly, traveling rivers through his hair, down his cheeks and neck, along the well toned muscles of his chest and arms, downwards further still.

The warmth felt welcome against his skin, clearing his head, if only slightly, steam filling the room as he turned up the temperature, taking the wash cloth from the inside stand and cleaning himself, grimacing at the tug on his skin, the horrible stickiness causing the cloth to stall and drag. He heaved slightly and scrubbed harder, desperate to get clean as quick as possible, the desire to no longer feel this filthy and faithless taking control of his thoughts.

It wasn't working, no matter how much he scrubbed and pushed it along his skin, no matter how much soap and shower gel he used, the feeling of clingy, grasping dirt on his body would not leave. He knew this was stupid, futile even; he was clean, cleaner than he could get without tearing of his skin, and no amount of washing could make a difference. But he felt it; he felt the filth inside of him, the rotten taste and feel of deceit and disgust.

Clean; he wanted to clean it all away, to make it better, and to make it right. He wanted to say sorry, to apologise, and to prove he didn't mean any of those daft and ridiculous words that had come from his mouth.

To pretend that this morning never happened that he was still at home and had never left for that club, one small desire for sanctuary, knowing he was paying for his immaturity and irresponsibility.

Mindless to the ever increasing temperature, he was only bound to his thoughts, numb to the things around him, the water burning his skin as his hand stayed on the handle, unknowingly turning up each notch until the water was scalding and hot tears streamed down his face, his thoughts stealing him from reality.

Just what was he doing with himself? How could he be this confused, allowing his own thoughts to betray what he knew was real?

The steam clouded the room, suffocating the air around him, door shut and windows closed. He could feel his breath shortening, his vision clouded as he continued to realise what a fool he was, scalding water turning his ivory skin lobster red and the world around him spinning.

He felt his body tip to the side, shooting out a hand to grab hold on the glass and keep upright. His breath hitched as he began to wake from his mind, noticing his surroundings and the pain that every nerve screamed with. He cried out in shock, gasping as he forced himself back under the full blast of the water, crying as he fought to turn of the tap, sobbing as it just wouldn't budge, wet hands sliding off of the slippery metal coating.

His body shook and he turned his head from side to side, angrily in defiance as he closed his eyes from the sting, clutching hold of the handle tightly and turning it, the water slowly cooling down until it was almost icy.

Dropping to the floor, he cried, placing his head between his legs to fight off the dizziness, the water shocking on his burning body. Every breath came out hotly, every tear stinging his cheeks snapping back senses with each one.

Realization came like a strike to the face, sharp and unexpected, a small epiphany in this unfair world. This entire time, scolding, berating and hurting his self; what was that doing? Nothing but causing pain and anguish he knew. It didn't fix things, didn't make them right or better, the situation stayed the same, and if changing, only served to make it worse. The picture of his life reflecting back off of the fogged glass, a blurred image of chaos and mess his life had become. This wasn't want he wanted, he knew that. He wanted to stop this, to change the issues around him, but how could he move forward, if he stayed like this, unmoving, crying, hurting?

Carefully, the moment between shock and calm subsiding, he unfurled from his crouched position, sitting back lightly allowing the cool water to touch his face, cooling him slightly, but not cold enough to make his body react to the temperature change in a fatal way.

Shivering, he smiled and opened his eyes, laughing. He laughed quietly to himself, small uncertain giggles growing louder and stronger into a melodious tune, ringing slightly against the glass.

He sighed relaxing, and stood up, wincing from his ever growing list of pains; his head, his backside, his skin. Even his heart was not exempt from this list, but for some reason, the world felt suddenly lighter.

Grabbing the towel from the side he wrapped it around his scorched body, flinching slightly and walking awkwardly back into the bedroom, picking up his pajamas from the floor and pulling the clean, cool silk back over him. No clothes there for him to change into other than these he sighed, smiling softly as he watched the steam leave the bathroom, waiting a while before going back inside and picking up his pajama top, putting it on but leaving it loosely, unbuttoned at his front, staring into the mirror at the marks, his still slightly pink hair and the bags beneath his eyes. He chuckled lightly at the state of himself, red raw yet smiling a small wondering smile.

Nodding his head once he turned on his heel and left, doing up his buttons and exiting the bedroom, looking down the vast hall that led to who knew where.

Taking a few steps he looked around, thinking, deciding, determined, and nodding to himself as once again he continued forward, not needing and not planning on looking back.

The hallway was empty, devoid of any person or life flitting through rooms and turnings as he would have liked to himself, tempted so had he been, he periodically peeked into the other rooms, each one as empty as the last, save for a few plants littering the odd room. He made his way further still, closing each door after looking in and continuing down the never ending hallway, smiling in relief as he spotted a flight of stairs leading down to the next floor, quickly making his way to them he noticed a long, sleek, straight rail, leading to the floor below and curving slightly at the end, and suffice to say, his personal problems had no part in his childish needs as he uncomfortably pulled himself to sit on it, a dull ache; a continuous reminder of the morning that he chose to ignore, preferring to file it away as life experience, to learn from his mistakes.

Skillfully, with a childish grin, he pushed off slightly and laughed. Cool air tugged gently as his clothes, sliding down much quicker than he expected, the banister getting closer to the end before he knew it. Flying off into a heap at the base of the stairs, groaning and laughing moronically to himself, he stared up at the decorated ceiling before sitting up and complaining.

Scolded skin and carpet burn were not the best combination he found, rubbing his leg from where it scrapped across the fabric of his trousers, along with the fancy royal blue carpet. He shook his head, reminding himself firmly that now was not the time for fun, he had had enough 'fun' this week to last him a life time, a life time that he was sure to be haunted by.

He shook his head again, quite violently, berating himself for thinking like that. He was stupid, yes. He was irresponsible and ignorant, for sure. But he wasn't going to be from now on.

Determination taking hold once again, self realization elating and downing him at the same time, he walked down another corridor, shorter than the last, to the turn at the corner, leading out he guessed, to the main lobby. The front doors, for there were two huge ones before him, were decorated with patterns needlessly extravagant, but then again the entire house -mansion- was more grandeur than he had ever wished to see, needless in its flamboyancies. He frowned slightly at all the over the top work and decor, deciding that the flashy boy needed a new interior completely.

But he wasn't here to criticize the decor, nor to be nosey and peek into the other large rooms such as the kitchen, which was twice the size of his living room, a large island in the middle for preparing food, several sinks and a frozen food storage room, looking much like a lavish restaurant as the cooks; two, milled around, busy with work. Or the front room, even larger than the kitchen, several couches and a large wide screen TV stretched across the expanse of the wall, switched off.

The blue eyed boy blinked in surprise, it was slightly over whelming being introduced to such a hugely different way of life, if only for a few hours there was still some effect of culture shock.

He left quickly, turning around and walking curiously over to the next door, head popping around the doorframe to see just what this room was, looking like a large dining room, a long modern table with more than enough seats for the all the Hyoutei regulars plus more to sit at. His eyebrow lifted slightly at the difference to the image he had in mind; dark ebony table with a hundred seats and scary family portraits hanging. This was completely different, looking modern yet sophisticated in style, grand enough for anyone but nothing like the old image he had held.

He chuckled imagining the diva in some kind of old Victorian styled home, those creepy portraits eyes following his every move.

Running a hand through his hazel hair, he turned back to the kitchen in desperate need of a drink -non alcoholic- to settle his stomach and clear his head. Maybe they would have some aspirin too if he was lucky. If there was one thing he was now certain of, it was that he would never drink again, at least not for a very, very long time.

Though sitting in the kitchen as one of the less busy cooks brewed him a cup of coffee and made him some toast, was not the greatest idea he had ever had either, as pots and pans clanged about and timers went off, ringing loudly through his already soaring head.

The cook had raised her eyebrows as the strange, bright red boy stepped into the kitchen, immediately she had tried to help him, seeing the familiar colour of hot scalds covering him, but he had waved her off, saying the best thing he needed was a cure for a hangover, and she had nodded understandingly.

He was back to his normal false smiles, and polite way of talking, happily, if still a little queasily, biting into a slice of toast, which even tasted too rich for his tongue, missing his usual spread on it; though he hardly doubted his topsy turvy stomach could handle wasabi at the moment. He had never been good with food when he was ill. The coffee too was rich in flavour, making him grimace in distaste, but the need for something strong and warm was too much and he continued to drink, avoiding the taste as he bit into the toast, being reminded that that didn't taste too good either once again.

It seemed as though his body was finally calming down, and the effect of the alcohol and the over exertion and stress was finally taking more of a toll though, becoming finally aware of his nerves state as his hands shook and his balance was off, thanking the lady and leaving.

She had watched him concerned as he left; keeping his hand on the wall for support, although the nerve blowing effect after the morning hysterics and numbness wore off was indeed startling, the blue eyed boy seemed to have perked up. He had never felt better this entire month, he finally felt alive and awake, and now he was determined to change things, and first thing first he was set on finding that silver haired, flamboyant, purple shirt wearing diva. Only that was easier said than done in a maze as big as this, hardly even knowing what way he gone to get from his room to here.

His shoulders twitched uncomfortably, trapped beneath the loose material, yet still unable to breath, heat still pouring off of his burnt body. He knew he should probably get checked, but that could wait to later. There was still that room he had yet to check; the living room.

Trudging quite tiredly over to the door, he stifled a yawn and turned the handle cautiously, aware of every noise and movement around him, letting it linger on the cool, icy metal, feeling kind against his skin.

Opening the large oak door, the blue eyed boy froze eyes widening to an extent even his best friend would be awed by. Standing at the back of the room, two people sat both looking furious and irritated by the others presence. He gasped quietly to himself, tightening his hold on the hand for support as both heads turned towards him, two sets of eyebrows arching high, their own eyes widening.

"Fuji!"

"Syuusuke!"

He didn't know what to do, what to say or expect. He found himself routed to the spot unable to move as he gawped at the scene before him. Two people he had never expected to see together, one person who should not have been there period, yet there they both were, shocking him senseless.

He had come down here for a reason, an important, very critical reason; he just had to remember what it was. Being this taken back, shocked and frozen on the spot was not in the equation, that small epiphany from the morning, ringing loud and true in his ears. He snapped out if it, walking a few steps closer in the smaller room.

Hushed footfalls floated out from the wooden flooring, hazel and navy eyes following his movements until he came to a stop between the two, standing just far enough away that he didn't feel rude, which was hard considering the circumstances.

Sharp eyes widened, looking his body over from the pink, accidental tint, to the bright red skin, and two mouths opened to ask just what had happened to him.

He cut them off quickly; noticing sadly and guiltily how the hazel eyed boy on the sofa avoided his gaze, so he turned, guiltily to the silver haired boy standing by the white fire place. He gave him a small, ashamed, tilted smile, opening his slightly blood shot eyes as he watched him, showing his seriousness.

But oddly, unfairly even, the navy eyed boy shook his head, eyes closing in a sigh and the tensai's own widening fractionally, a red, turning darker, mark sat painted on the flamboyant captains cheek. Noticing where the younger boys gaze fell, he smirked and walked past, placing a hand on his shoulder and whispering something into his ear, carrying on to walk out of the room.

The cerulean eyed boy didn't miss the way the brunette's eyes narrowed at the diva's motion to touch him, looking angered and irked. The hostile air around them didn't shift, if only to become that awkward silence, filled with that unbearable tension.

He turned a small ways and shuffled over quietly to the other sofa, sitting down with some pained effort and choosing to look at the others shoes rather than his face. His breath came slowly, almost as if he was afraid of breathing too loudly and getting the others attention or irritated gaze, slowly and steadily watching each breath, composing himself before he opened his mouth.

But why was he here? Wasn't he supposed to be at home or out doing his own thing, after that phone call the Hyoutei captain had made? It didn't make much sense to him, knowing that the other had been called long before he had woke that morning, only to be called again to cancel yet still show up, making him nervous and confused. He hadn't prepared to face something like this, and after what he was just told, he did not want to confront this at all, not yet.

Swallowing and taking a final breath, he sat up moderately straight, looking the other in waiting eyes and mentally cursing for stalling. He set his jaw and steadied his nerves, opening his mouth to speak again; it was now or never.

"It's been a while, Tezuka."


	4. Chapter 4

**This is actually a very hard style to write in...I've decided it would be a lot easier with a dictionary and thesaurus, rather than the random extravagent words my mind started to remember.... This one has more dialogue and less over the top-ness in it. I hope it didn't change the style too much, but it was neccessary.**

**Please R&R and Enjoy ^^ The epilogue is the only thing left ^^**

**Dedicated to the ZukaFuji Collab writers and there mission ^_^ as well as Mirror for her randomnesss and insistense that she is the older sister XD**

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His eyes widened marginally at the person sat across from him, looking distastefully at what little of his body could be seen through the light coloured clothes, causing the tensai to fault, looking away shamefully and unknowingly showing more if his damaged skin.

The other shook his head lightly, leaning back and beckoning him closer, which the cerulean eyed boy only blinked at, startled and confused, cautious of his loves motive, shameful of his body, and scared of his voice.

He didn't know what to say as the man before him spoke, hazel eyes watching him closely, eyes narrowing at the state of the others body, bruised and red raw. He smiled warily; unsure of how the older male would react, of what he would say, still staying, unmoving from his place across from him. He flinched as a deep, smooth voice asked him a question, asking him if he had fun. Asking him, what did he want to do now?

To be honest, he didn't have an answer. Fidgeting with his hands on his lap, avoiding eye contact again, he thought about the question, wondering just what did he want?

He could barely fight the urge, eyes moving of their own will to stare at his chest and shoulders, the memory of those strong arms once supporting him, now hanging still by their sides, unmoving for him. He kept wanting to come closer, just a step, too afraid to get any closer than was respectable, not wanting to be rude or naive.

He wanted those arms around him, he wanted those eyes to stop looking at him with such shame, and he wanted to know what had happened to the diva canceling that earlier phone call, and just why the brunette was here, sitting in front of him waiting patiently for him to explain himself.

He looked down, eyes shifting from side to side as his gaze swept along the floor, thinking of what to say, the honesty he needed to give the other and get off his chest. Making up his mind he brought his eyes up, readying himself to talk again, to answer those questions seeing as the older boy made no move to speak again, taking a breath even as his body shook seeing the others emotionless expression directed at him.

Yes he had made the biggest mistake of his life, hours and moments he could never get back, but he had learned and planned never to make such foolish decisions again. He didn't want to ever repeat this, to hurt people who had done nothing wrong, to just throw it all away. He still felt sick, earlier memories and actions making him shudder; the biggest mistake he had made this entire month. The throbbing in his head, dizzy from heat and the hangover he deserved.

He breathed out and, ignoring the pain, opened his mouth to speak more than his earlier greeting, his voice hardly confident, approaching the other cautiously in case he made a wrong move. He was determined to stop this, right now, he would not allow it to go any further, his want and need to carry on with life and move on from this pathetic excuse for a week giving some depth to his voice, and certainty.

"I wouldn't call it fun Tezuka," he smiled weakly. "Perhaps an experience I'd rather never have again."

A silent acknowledgment passed through the pause, hazel eyes waiting patiently; frowning in concern every time he caught sight of the red raw skin.

"I- I have been very foolish," the tensai continued, a more confident smile on his face even as he mentally berated himself. "And Tezuka? I just want to go home. No more of this, no more."

The brunette stood up slowly, sighing softly and looking down at the younger boy disappointedly, the way a parent would when their child had done something insatiably stupid and stepped forward to him around the small coffee table, placing a hand carefully on the others arm.

He gasped; he didn't think it would hurt that much his scalded skin making him sharply recoil in white pain, eyes watering. The stoic boy, expressionless as always, hoisting him up from the seat, letting go just as quickly to prevent further pain he hoped, rather than not wanting to touch him.

He complied quickly, not wanting to cause any more problems, wondering nervously how much the silver haired boy, where ever he was, had told the other about that morning. He ventured that he most likely had told all, seeing the redness on the Seigaku's captain's knuckles and the Hyoutei captains earlier red cheek, seeing those eyes slide across the marks around his neck. He gulped, feeling more naked than ever, hissing as his clothes scraped along his body, chaffing, scratching, and making him whimper not that his body was becoming more receptive to his injuries.

As soon as he was ready the older boy walked him out of the room, nodding to the side where he saw said diva waiting, looking un-amused and sporting a now swollen purple cheek, raising his eyes again at the shorter boys own red skin.

Straight away he nodded, flipping out his mobile and dialing a number. Listening curiously as the navy eyed boy spoke, apparently telling a doctor to expect him at some hospital, and suddenly he was being marched back down the hallway outside to a waiting car, shielding his sensitive eyes from the glare of the, as he now noticed, afternoon sun and being guided inside.

This had certainly been an eventful morning, disastrous, heartbreaking, reality checking and now health damaging and he wondered how else things would change through out the course of the day. But at that moment he was more than content to sit, albeit awkwardly and nervously silent, next to the one person he needed and that perhaps tomorrow would be a whole new day, a whole new start, regardless of the explaining he would have to do.


	5. Chapter 5

**Wah it's the final chpater! The Epilogue, and i'm sad to say there's no lemon, or heck even speech in this. But I will write a sequal to this. Probably a one shot which will be a bit more involved ne ^_^ I hope you enjoy this and thanks to everyone who reviewed and what not ^^ made me feel this was a good peice i wrote ^^ I hope the sequal one shot will live up to this :D **

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The silence that ensued the room was a new experience for the brunette, sitting back on top of his bed, eying the small, barely noticable frown on the tensai's other wise relaxed face, skin cooling and reurning to it's usual colour slowly. Even though the other slept, the silence was still at odd ends, unheard explanations, unresolved issues and misrible memories of a time not a month ago.

It astounded him, looking down at the now sound asleep, bandaged boy; white cream covering certain sections of his body, cooling the effect of that mornings shower. It was so small that fragile inner balance of the hazel haired male, that even the slightest personal invasion could tip the scales dramatically.

He wondered vaguely, the image of a furious tensai, crying out, winding himself up further before storming out of the appartment fresh in his mind, just how quickly he had decided to take that sordid route, trying to find ecstacy through pain, to feel remorse through hate.

He couldn't fathom -his memory of looking for the exhausted boy for two weeks, chasing bars and clubs and always being a step late- how the tensai had come to such a rash decision. The words traced and flowed through his mind repeatedly; stabbing and insulting, the enraged eyes that had flared open catching him with pure fury. It hadn't been planned, but life was never a set decision, things had come up, dates had been missed, shows forgotten or skipped.

Life never dealt you a perfect hand, and just like a stone tossed into a pond, the small ripples began to grow; the cards were laid on the table, because some things were not preventable.

He guessed that night had been the final straw, him calling on the younger boy, telling him straight, being responded by a steadily growing voice, calm turning to rage in mere minutes, a deadly smile that vanished, and cold eyes that burned.

Perhaps for once, life had gone one step too far, plans for the weekend being canceled at the last minute; the rush to complete the university work before deadlines looming over them. The days they were called out by friends from work, from Uni, begging them to lighten up, to have some fun or help the out. Once again their plans to spend time together in this busy life were shattered, that thin line of patience finally snapping.

Hypocritical was a word that described them both, both in the wrong, yet only one starting this whole affair. They had tried, so hard it became tense, yet maybe not hard enough, to meet with the other, to be on some level and some kind of plea to wait just that little bit longer.

Work was distracting, course work was overwhelming, time was sparce and sometimes life just hated them. But they could have tried harder he thought. Instead of flying of the handle, instead of the harsh words that had cut him, not that he had shown it, watching his other half spin around and slam the door on his way out. The cerulean eyes boy had never been this mad.

It was his own fault though, he sighed stroking a fallen bang away from the sleeping boys face, and the damned tensai had started it all, a small rolling stone escalating into a rockslide, crushing them both under the collapsing pressure. A simple request that couldn't be met no matter how much they wanted it to, a simple thing that had grown in need and desperation, the thread finally snapping as the other could not meet the request. They had shouted, fought back tears, and said harsh things on one side, ignored on the other. He knew the younger boy had been at his final point, tired of waiting, tired of deadlines and work, just wanting to be with the person he loved, and he too wanted that also. But the younger had taken it too far, had said some rash things, and he saw in the others pleading eyes, that he knew it himself but was too stubborn to apologise.

Even still, as angry as he was, he had given the boy a week to cool off, certain his lover would realise himself, come home and talk. But the oldest sibling had only shook her head in worry, him suddenly disapearing with out a word or note, her cards telling her of her brothers chaos but not of his safety. The brunette had never moved so quickly in his life, calling a familiar phone number in hopes of finding some answers.

Eighty-six percent chance he is doing something reckless had been the answer. Another phone call, a different number, a name of a bar visited not long ago with old friends. The waitress had seen him there, she had told, saying she saw him go off with a group, planning to check out the scene.

The hazel eyed boy had a head ache, he knew this would not end well, he just didn't realise how much trouble the small boy was about to cause.

There were over twenty odd clubs around the area, then adding the number of bars he just wanted to hit something. Calling for help, asking his regulars to try and search too, to calm the older female's nerves of worry; to find that stupid boy before he got himself hurt.

It was almost hopeless, the stoic captain had thought, visiting many of the night scenes, always finding a lead yet always being too late. It was coming into the second week and still no sign or word from the sadistic boy, his sister just about ready to call the authorities. By the middle of that week he had almost given up, coming away from the latest club he had ventured to check, coming out with neon colours plastered to his clothes to his dismay.

A bench nearby had called to him, beckoning to rest his weary body and mind, and he hadn't denied it, sitting down on what had once been a newly varnished brown bench, now speckled in bright colours.

He could hear random drunk and exctied people in the back ground, giggling, laughing, talking about some crazy child who drunk himself silly. He shook his head, thinking how irresponsible that person must be, paralytic was by no means fun. A sudden sharp noise broke through his displeased thoughts, the familiar ringtone of his mobile peircing through his reverie, the sun soft against his cheeks as he opened it up and answered the call.

He had seen the name, a person he had asked for help from, what with his various connections, and the time together on the screen; it was almost ten, the sun long sinse raised and the last of the club dwellers were drifting off.

The voice on the other end nearly made him drop the phone, relief and shock running through him, turing back to worry and concern as the others description was relayed to him, shocking him further.

The tennis captain had never moved so fast in his life, as he did leaving the bench and racing off down the street to the nearest bus station. He couldn't believe his luck, the scheduled buses running half an hour late, an accident up ahead causing a huge traffic jam, but that was fine right? After all, it was as if the younger boy would be going any where soon.

It had been nearly two hours, and as soon as the bus stopped an he rushed off, figuring he'd get there quicker walking, he received another call from the previous number.

Something had happened; he could hear it in the caller's voice, regret and concern as well as guilt, such an odd mix in this particular male. He had firmly ignored the caller, he had spent two weeks searching for his lover, or what he still hoped was, to be told no.

Through what ever miracle had shined on him, he made it to the mansion, for it rightly was, and demanded entrance from it's resident, the silver haired boy waiting for him at the front door, a silent nod of acknowledgement before being led in and set down to business.

The truth in the others words had floored him, leaving him shocked breathless in his seat, sudden emotion taking all senses over as he seathed over what he had heard, lashing out and striking the person before him.

He stood in frozen blankness, realising his actions and apologising, if not stubbornly and angrily, to the other out of habit from growing up, being taught right from wrong.

The other shook his head ruefully, holding a hand to his cheek, saying he deserved it, that it was understandable and not to be judged. From what he had heard, he could only guess at what had been going on in the others head.

He had been disapointed and annoyed, he felt hurt and betrayed, yet for some reason a small understanding of what the others thought process was at the time; unpredictable and quite often foolish.

He didn't know whether to feel angry or sorry for the tensai, choosing to keep some reserved center around himself rather than judge, a cool detatchment to help him figure this out.

It was at that point that the door clicked open, and the mornings events really happened. The diva host had left the room, whispering something in the small, frozen, yet oddly red raw boy's ear. He couldn't help the twang of jealousy and hate that fired up, seeing the sliver haired bou touch his partner, then remembering he had done more than touch him, seeing the marks on the younger male's neck.

That had been a tense conversation; he could see the boy fidgeting, uncomfortable, scared and vulnerable. He had been confident though too, his soft voice gaining a stronger fuller sound, resolute and some what wiser, though definately sore.

He hadn't thought, pulling the other up, wincing, and leading him out the house, doing everything on autopilot as he sat in the rich boy's car, the chaufer driving the two of them to the hospital where the other promptly gasped and whimpered at the doctor's touch.

So now, looking down at the curled up form, dosed with pain killers, he couldn't figure out why he had brought him back to their appartment, half asleep at that time. Surely he would have been better of at his sisters, but then again, he was still so broken. Tonight he would stay here, and then tomorrow he would march him to his siblings home to be watched and cared for, not allowed to leave the house other than for fresh air.

He sighed again hearing the contented mewl the other gave at his touch, sleepily moving closer in his unconscious state.

It would be hard he knew, but as much as he loved the tired male dearly, this was not something he'd get over with quick. It would take a while, who knew how long, to get things even moderatly back to a normal relationship. But he couldn't live with the other at this current time; he needed to clear his own head before trying to decipher his tensai's.

For the time being he would stay with his sister, visiting him sometime soon, hoping to get an explanation from the other, waiting for the right moment that he knew the gears would start shifting, for the time that they could move on together, get passed this and carry on.


End file.
